


Covetous

by yeaka



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kevin thinks about Raymond eyeing barrels with Gordon Lundt.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 152





	Covetous

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Catching up on this show; this is set after s6e7, “They Honeypot” 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Brooklyn 99 or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

His head tilts back in the pillow, his chest arching up—his hands splay across the smooth plains of Raymond’s chiseled back, and his blunt fingernails dig down into Raymond’s dark, sweat-slicked skin. Raymond slides in so deep that Kevin’s toes curl—no one’s ever reached as far into him as Raymond has. It’s an exquisite, delicious burn that drives everything else out of his mind. For those few seconds, all he is boils down to that one point of contact. It’s so much better than Raymond’s incredibly talented fingers. Then Raymond leans down, taut body crushing Kevin’s into the mattress, and Kevin has to close his eyes because everything’s too _good_.

He opens them again to find his husband bearing down on him. Raymond’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated, _lust_ all over his handsome face. He’s a gorgeous specimen, especially beautiful like this: in a fit of _passion._ There’s nothing else quite like it. Raymond’s laugh is pure music, his dry wit the highest art, but his love-making skills are the pinnacle, and it’s extra special because that beauty is only for Kevin’s eyes. This is a private side of Raymond that no one else gets to experience. 

Except Raymond took some young hussy to a barrel museum and caressed a stranger’s ears with a low purr of intricate knowledge and exposition. Raymond’s next thrust hitches Kevin’s breath for all the wrong reasons. He actually winces. He looks up at Raymond and tells himself that _of course_ Gordon Lundt didn’t get to see this. Raymond would never go so far. He had perfectly sound reasons for going as far as he did. But he still shared that magnificent brain of his with another man. 

Raymond’s hips stutter to a halt, pausing their perfect rhythm. He’s noticed. His pace would never falter otherwise; he’s never anything less than exactingly efficient in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise Kevin that he’s been discovered. Raymond reads him deeper than any book. 

Raymond grinds down into him and keeps them glued together like that, forcing Kevin to struggle for air and cling to Raymond to hold on. His legs are spread wide around Raymond’s hips, the slight hair scattered there tickling his inner thighs. Raymond repositions to hold himself up on one arm so his muscular chest doesn’t crush the air out of Kevin’s lungs. His other hand shifts to cup Kevin’s face, his palm warm against Kevin’s cheek. He says more than asks, “You’re thinking about the barrel museum.” 

Kevin wouldn’t dream of lying. He nods, only to lick his lips and rasp, “Keep going.” They’ve already made up—there’s no need to harp on it. Raymond brushes a fluttering kiss across the bridge of Kevin’s nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice low and deep, only slightly strained for their position—for how tightly clamped around him Kevin is. It’s not the place for discussions, but discussions often happen mid-coitus anyway, because they’re _them_. Raymond promises, “He was nothing to me.” Kevin hadn’t even suspected otherwise. Another kiss lands across his cheek, then down to the corner of his lips, then square in the middle. Raymond’s tongue pries him open for a deep, languid kiss that sends a shiver down Kevin’s entire body. Raymond breathes into his mouth, “ _I love you._ ”

Kevin knows. He does. He can _feel_ it. His thighs squeeze at Raymond’s sides, wanting, _needing_ Raymond to keep going. The conflicted feelings haven’t at all wilted his interest—he’s still rock-hard between them, but he’s too firmly pinned to the mattress to do much more than squirm against Raymond’s stomach. Raymond kisses across his face and rumbles into his ear, “I only got through it by thinking of _you._ ” Kevin almost laughs. He saw the pictures. Gordon was wanton enough that Raymond shouldn’t have needed any help. But Raymond mutters, “Each barrel’s slender curves, so meticulously planned, so expertly carved, so tightly bound together... the articulate designs and the proficient craftsmanship behind their execution... they had truly awe-inspiring examples, the best of them roped off, none to be touched... and yet I knew I had something somehow even _more_ handsome waiting for me at home: a perfect body I _could_ touch...” Raymond’s hand slowly migrates down the back of Kevin’s neck, fingertips grazing through the short stubs of his hair, then dancing across his shoulder and dipping down his side, caressing and squeezing on the way. His hips roll into Kevin’s, smooth and steady, paced like a gentle ocean current, enough to make Kevin’s heart race. Raymond bites a bruise into his neck that Kevin will feel tomorrow—a rare present that Kevin will cherish. He’ll wear turtlenecks for a week and not scold Raymond about it like he usually does, because right now, he _needs_ it. He needs a mark of Raymond’s ardor he can finger and remember. Raymond kisses back up his jaw and hisses, “...And of course, the more I thought on it, the more I wished I had you there to _fuck you right over that barrel_...”

The coarse, crude language makes Kevin’s eyes roll back in his head. Any other time, such language would be inappropriate, but in the heat of _sex_ , it only turns Kevin on more, because only _he_ can undo Raymond Holt to that point. Raymond doesn’t swear for just anyone. Raymond doesn’t _fuck_ just anyone. Kevin was foolish for ever fearing otherwise. 

Raymond’s hand finally reaches its destination—it wraps around Kevin’s cock and squeezes hard enough to make him whine. Raymond pumps him dry and devours him with nips and kisses and starts really _fucking him_ again, driving in deep and hard and _wonderful_. It’s all Kevin can do to hold on. 

He doesn’t hold on long. There are times where they’ve managed to make love for the better part of an hour, even though they’ve both agreed that a full hour would be ridiculous—sex is hardly a productive activity to invest too much time in. Kevin adores these moments anyway. He adores being in Raymond’s arms. He adores being _connected_ as much as they possibly can. 

Raymond hits the right spot and strokes Kevin just right—he shudders and comes, Raymond’s name on his tongue. He clenches hard around Raymond and shakes with his own tremors. The orgasm clears his mind again: back to a fog of nothingness and simple, unadulterated _pleasure._

He paints both of their chests and abruptly slumps, collapsing against the mattress. He can already feel his damp skin sticking to the sheets. Normally, they change those sheets immediately, take showers one at a time so as not to be tempted to reengage, and sleep in a blissful but hygienic haze. For once, Kevin doesn’t have the energy for that. He’s perfectly content to lie there and have his sweaty beast of a husband slam into him and spread his release all over both of them. 

Raymond captures his mouth again, stealing what little air Kevin’s regained, and then Raymond comes inside him. It’s clear from Raymond’s ravenous attention who he’s thinking of. He grinds it all in like he’s branding Kevin with his mark. Then he’s done and slumping too, suddenly heavy and boiling hot—borderline too much for Kevin to handle. 

Kevin doesn’t push him off. Instead, Kevin cocoons around him, just holding on all the tighter. He snuggles into Raymond’s shoulder, and when Raymond tries to pull back, Kevin doesn’t let him. 

Raymond murmurs again, “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.

“I love you.”

Twice in one night. Kevin smiles tiredly, but the view’s muffled against Raymond’s skin. They both stink, and the creeping moisture’s only getting worse. In the absence of an erection, Kevin’s starting to feel sore. 

He answers, “I love you too,” and holds on a while longer anyway, just enjoying Raymond Holt: a man his and _only_ his.


End file.
